


Caught

by kabeswaters



Category: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Winter fic, confused gays, it is snowwwinnggg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 17:33:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17105036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kabeswaters/pseuds/kabeswaters
Summary: When Scorpius catches his long-time crush and best friend, Albus, snogging someone in their bedroom, jealousy and arguing ensues.





	Caught

Scorpius’ first thought: of course she’s beautiful.

With one hand holding the still-cold metal doorknob and the other his fast-beating heart, Scorpius stood in the doorway of his dorm room stuck in an unrealized inhale. Because ten feet away from him, on the edge of his barely-made bed, was Albus. Albus, with one hand holding “her” face and the other a combination of blue bunched-up bedsheets and blankets. Though the obviousness of what they were doing hit Scorpius into stillness, he felt as though he was sinking down into the ground at the same time, far into that hardwood floor, as if the capacity to hold himself up was no longer something he acquired.

Perhaps that’s why he tripped forwards: the lack of bodily control. And suddenly, his body fell into the threshold, shoes scuffing across the floor and catching the attention of Albus and the beautiful girl. Once Scorpius looked up from his now-stable feet, he met their faces for the first time. Their lips were on the brink of purpleness and for a moment that sent a shockwave down his spine, Scorpius wondered how long they had been at this, if it was so good that they would have continued with Scorpius’ body in the doorframe if his arrival hadn’t been so unceremoniously announced.

The glances he was given were completely opposing. The girl was scowling at Scorpius, etching sharp lines in her face that seemed misplaced on the roundness of her cheeks, the wideness of her eyes. It terrified Scorpius still. But not nearly as much as the deep sadness Albus looked at him with, as if Scorpius had disappointed him greatly by not realizing what was going on even before he knew.

Scorpius didn’t know if he would have preferred knowing earlier, though. He pictured himself in the spot in the library where he was previously, desperately attempting to shove sentences of textbooks into his brain as to distract it from what was going on. In this daydream he saw himself tapping his foot relentlessly, tearing his hands through his hair, slipping into the dangerous hypotheticals of what they were doing. In this daydream, he only lasted a good fifteen minutes before he came barging in with some lame excuse—constructed entirely out of selfishness—of why Albus had to stop kissing her immediately and flee the scene.

Maybe it was better to stumble in on it.

The girl’s response made him think otherwise.

“Uh, excuse me,” she scoffed. “We’re in the middle of something. Close the door.”

Scorpius just gripped the handle tighter, his jaw emulating the squeezing action by clenching teeth against teeth. “So, I guess this is your room now?” he asked her, pouring all of the sarcasm he could into the question.

Her eyebrows raised while looking around the cluttered bedroom, as if she was actually considering what it would be like to live amongst Albus’ unorganized shoes and the faint yet ever-present smell of cologne and tea. But her eyes settled back on Scorpius as she responded, “What do you mean?”

“Well, considering you’re giving me orders on how to behave and what to do, I guess this is your room then, right?”

“Scorpius— ” Albus butted in, but the girl kept speaking over him. In the resulted powerlessness, Scorpius risked a glance in his direction. Albus still looked thoroughly miserable (and miserably handsome, so Scorpius kept looking at him because he couldn’t stop himself).

Therefore, all he heard was the last few sentences of the girls’ argument. “Plus,” she said, in that over-enthusiastic way people do when they get new ideas to tack on to an old one, “Albus is your roommate. He has just as much say as to what goes on in here as you do.”

Responding to her point, but not to her—he was still looking into Albus’ green eyes, putting all his effort into not getting lost in them—Scorpius asked,“So I guess you can do just anything you want in here, then, Al? Regardless of how it affects your roommates?”

As if he knew he didn’t have much time, Albus blurted out, “I didn’t think you’d be back.” But it was said like an accident, an afterthought, with pouted lips and a soft tone. Almost apologetically, but, after years of being best friends with him, Scorpius knew it wasn’t exactly not knowing Scorpius’ schedule that Albus was apologizing for. It was something different and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

But Albus’ were still awkwardly dangling on the girl’s arm, keeping Scorpius’ glare ever-present, his face red as apples. Albus kept glancing between his fingers and Scorpius: a silent questioning of, “Is this okay?” Even though he knew the answer, but not the reason. Scorpius would rather endure a Crutiartus curse than tell his best friend, his only friend, that for upwards of a year he had been craving for something more.

Hence the anger. The anger that wasn’t anger at Albus for kissing someone else, but at himself for never being good enough to be on the receiving end. And just at the thought of it, his chapped lips burned. If only he was the one getting Albus’ lips to that purpley-blue, getting to coax them open and bite them and press his own against them.

“Well I am back,” Scorpius stupidly retorted, feeling foolish but powerful as Albus frowned further. “So are you going to let me have my room back, or are you going to make me leave again?”

Scorpius didn’t realize his heart could hurt more than it did when he opened the door on this mess. But when Albus’ open mouth didn’t speak another word, Scorpius had to grip even tighter on the doorknob to keep his torso upright from the force of his heart’s aching.

Trying to appear unaffected, Scorpius cleared his throat aggressively. “I see,” he noted, forcing as much disappointment into the words as he could muster before turning around and closing the door behind him, trapping Albus’ call of his name behind the wooden slab.

He wouldn’t turn back. And he wouldn’t wait up.

So Scorpius started darting down to anywhere else, dodging students passing through the common room, some looking concerned and others looking amused. A few cruel comments were called out from behind him, but nothing could hurt him more than seeing Albus with someone else, than Albus not caring that he had seen, than Scorpius blaming his best friend for something so obviously his own fault. Albus didn’t have control over the fact no one else wanted to befriend Scorpius; or that no one could make Scorpius laugh as hard, as often; or that Albus was so irresistible without realizing, like how he woke up curly hair in uneven tangles and smile so lazily warm it made Albus feel as though he was being dipped in sunshine. And his voice was deeper then, coarser, but never callous. Whenever he spoke in the morning, it caught Scorpius off guard, and he almost dropped what he was carrying or tripped over his feet.

Albus was just Albus. It wasn’t his fault he was everything to Scorpius. It wasn’t his fault that Scorpius was in love with him. 

Scorpius froze at the realization, stumbling out of his running. His lungs were dry and heaving and he wished he hadn’t had ran or argued or left Albus’ call of his name hanging in the air to no avail. For months he made sure Albus couldn’t suspect the truth; he shoved every piece of evidence deep inside of him so Albus wouldn’t tease him about being jittery or notice the elementary sketches of initials in hearts he scratched into parchment corners. So how was Albus to know what kissing some random bird meant? How was he to realize what he meant to Scorpius if Scorpius was doing everything in his power to keep Albus from knowing just that?

“Fuck,” Scorpius whispered. For the briefest of moments, he watched his breath turn white in the air, transfixed out of not wanting to drown in guilt, before he fell forwards. He stumbled into the fluffy snow of the Divination courtyard, almost landing on his hands from the thickness of it. Scorpius almost laughed at the fact the “fuck,” he let out seconds earlier now seemed like a precursor as opposed to a reaction. 

But he didn’t have time when, from behind him, he heard a voice unmistakably belonging to Albus spit out the same word, making him freeze once more.

“Shit! I didn’t mean… I should have stopped running earlier.”

Scorpius turned around, the motion full of tentativeness and apprehension. He was met with just as much from Albus, who stood with a head tilted downwards, shifting gaze, and hand on the back of his head.

Years ago, in a makeshift pillowfort the two had spent far too long on considering its finalized appearance, Albus and Scorpius had sworn to always be frank with one another. “Not telling no secrets,” Albus had said, as if he knew what was to come, the way he would grow to hold Scorpius’ heart unlike anyone else. “Just, like, if something is bothering one of us about the other person, or there’s something we have to say, we don’t take offense. Got it?” 

Scorpius had nodded his head, and, in this moment, he was happy he had, as it gave him the permission to bluntly ask, “Why are you nervous? I was the one being the asshole.”

Like the snow they stood on would in the spring, Albus’ expression of grief melted, replacing his frown with a small smile. He even looked up at Scorpius; those green eyes effectively destroyed every ounce of Scorpius’ composure within milliseconds.

“Really?” Albus asked. Everything about him was unsure.

“Yes. I overreacted. I’m… I’m really sorry about it, Albus. It’s just,”—“not telling no secrets”—“I had a really long day. It’s not about you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

As if the soft, “oh,” Albus responded with wasn’t enough of an indicator, his focus was down and his feet kicking at the snow, emphasizing his displeasure with the explanation.

Besides himself, Scorpius felt his anger returning. “What? Did you want it to be about you?” he spat out. If it weren’t for his coldness this morning, the sharpness of his voice would have surprised him.

But not as much as the defeated, “Yeah,” Albus directed towards the ground.

Like a balloon that was just untied and hissing out oxygen, Scorpius felt all of the madness flush out of his body instantaneously. Every part of him that used to hold rage was filled with shock instead and the world felt wrong.

“What?” Scorpius could feel how scrunched his face was in confusion, how it almost looked appalled as a consequence.

“It should be about me,” Albus continued to the ground, as if he was talking to himself. “I knew you were coming back. You told me this morning.” In a flash Scorpius recollected their conversation, recollecting more of Albus deep morning voice than what he said when using it, making his memory fuzzy; Scorpius shook his head side to side in an attempt of clarity. 

“I… I don’t remember mentioning that.” For some reason, Scorpius’ throat suddenly felt dry.

“Well, you did. And I… I fucking knew, okay? And I’m sorry.” 

Albus still wasn’t looking up, was still directing his gestures towards the ground, so Scorpius let his face fall into a frown and pressed on Albus slightly. “It’s okay,” he reassured. “I’m not that mad, I swear.”

“But you should be.” Albus’ breathing was ragged, and Scorpius knew it wasn’t from the running, but how much energy what he was saying took out of him. So Scorpius kept quiet, fiddling with the edge of his jacket nervously, afraid of why Albus was so adamant to take the blame. So for a moment, all that was heard over the high howls of winter wind were Scorpius’ coat’s fabric rustling and Albus’ heavy breaths. Even Scorpius’ heartbeat was muffled, because, for some reason not apparent to Scorpius, Albus’ eyes had flicked back up, causing Scorpius’ heart to stop moving altogether.

All until Albus broke the silence he had began. “I knew. I planned it so you’d walk in on us kissing.”

“Why?” Scorpius asked so quickly, the question beat the confused expression which fell across his face.

“I wanted to see if I cared. If you cared. If I cared whether or not you cared.” Albus was letting his eyes flutter around in nervousness, never landing on Scorpius as he spoke, so Scorpius didn’t expect him to see the confusion from the last question still residing in his expression. Therefore, he stayed silent, waiting for those wandering eyes to land on his face once more and see the questions he wasn’t vocalizing. So Albus kept going once his eyes saw what Scorpius had left for him.

But this time, he sounded less confident and less icy from that composure. It seemed as though something got lodged deep in his throat. “You see, I thought… I thought, well, really, I was looking back at the past to see how I felt, so I concluded, I suppose, that I, uh, have a crush on you.” As if they weren’t already rosy from the chill, Scorpius felt all the heat in his body rise to his cheeks, reddening them further, he was certain. He glanced over at Albus with a gawked expression but, as was usual for Albus in that conversation, his focus was elsewhere. There was never a time Scorpius could remember wanting Albus’ eyes on him as much as he craved them now. 

“But I never really felt like that towards someone before,” he continued, voice still full of uncertainty. “So I had to test it, of course. I kissed a couple of birds, a couple of blokes,”—Scorpius, for the first time, allowed his face to fall as Albus spoke of kissing other people—“but it still… it wasn’t enough. But I still didn’t think I liked you in that way. So I supposed it was jealousy or something. I don’t know. I guess I thought I wanted to prove that I could get someone.”

“You can have anyone you want,” Scorpius blurted out. It was a truth he had withheld for Merlin knows how long, how he felt no one could be compared with Albus or his smile or sense of humor or way of making the world seem brighter. “And you got her.”

Albus was shaking his head. “She’s… she’s no one.”

Remembering her beautiful face, deep eyes, long lashes, Scorpius retorted, “She’s someone.”

“She’s not you.”

Scorpius thought Albus’ torso jamming into his back was the maximum force Albus held that could make Scorpius feel the unbalanced. But as that statement faded into nothing in the air but everything in Scorpius’ heart, he felt his knees buckle slightly, his ribcage contract. The weight of Albus’ words were enough to make him melt.

What was worse—or, perhaps, better, if it weren’t for the fact his words kept making Scorpius feel faint—was that Albus kept going. “I was wrong, Scorpius,” he said, tearing his hands through his unruly hair. “It wasn’t about making you jealous of me, but jealous of her. So I ran after you because… because I’m so tired. I’m so tired of pretending you don’t mean as much to me as you do. I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

He was unsure of where the sudden bolt of sympathy came from, but Scorpius found himself asking, “Does she know?”

Albus’ eyes darted upwards, cold and confused at first, but turning softer the longer they looked at Scorpius’ face. Scorpius guessed Albus was trying to wage exactly how defensive he needed to be. But, Scorpius focused on keeping his expression more doubtful than accusatory and watched it work as Albus’ glare disintegrated.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Of course. I explained myself right after you left. It was short and terrible, but I wouldn’t have come after you otherwise.”

“Good…” Scorpius nodded, focus drifting off to nowhere in particular. A lump began rising in his throat, one he could not seem to push down, because, suddenly, the air between he and Albus was charged. There was tangible energy between the two of them, and Scorpius wasn’t sure how to take the lead, now that Albus had spoken his truths. There was no smooth and suave way to reciprocate. No way Scorpius could conjure that wouldn’t make him seem like a pathetic, lovesick mess and be sure to scare Albus away before something even began.

Apparently, he had been quiet for longer than he had realized, or looked even more dazed than he felt, because when Albus whispered out his name, the utterance full of concern and fear. Yet it still remained so soft.

So, this time, it was Scorpius who looked up, whose eyes had to rise to meet Albus’. Against the whiteness which covered every tree, bush, rock, archway of their backdrop, they looked even greener than usual. For the first time, Scorpius indulged himself in the act, not looking at Albus’ eyes but into them. If it weren’t for the fact the December chill could turn anyone’s face red—and that, even though it was after Albus admitted his feelings, Scorpius still felt as though he didn’t have the capacity to make anyone blush under any circumstances—Scorpius may have let himself believe it was his attention that caused Albus’ face to flush.

“Sorry,” Scorpius muttered. He wanted to continue with, “your eyes are just really beautiful,” but decided against it, knowing Albus felt as though they were of his father’s ownership more than his own. Instead, he shook his head side to side to try and refocus. Nothing he could say felt adequate enough, yet Albus’ lips had turned upwards into a smirk, as if Scorpius was taking things far too seriously. 

So the, “It’s okay,” Albus responded with was more of a chuckle than an apology. “I’m just assuming that you’re stalling to try and find a way to let me down easy.” He was still smiling, somehow, and it made Scorpius’ stomach turn in on itself. “But don’t worry. I’ll still be your friend.”

“No.” 

Scorpius surprised himself in the delivery; it was sharp rather than desperate, and would have been too aggressive if not for the involuntary swinging of his arm towards Albus’ chest, begging for his presence (somewhere deep within, Scorpius knew the previous dialogue was an attempt at an outro, but Scorpius wasn’t finished yet). 

The motion caught Albus’ attention. He glanced down at Scorpius’ hand, considering the fingers stretched flatly against his coat’s chest pocket, before resurfacing with scrunched eyebrows and an almost-frown on his mouth. Scorpius found himself wanting to kiss that scowl off of Albus’ lips; he swallowed down the craving until he realized he no longer had to. The epiphany made his body buzz, his knees weaken, his heart stop yet beat even faster at the same time.

Because he wasn’t sure when it began exactly, the desperation for Albus. He assumed the fuzziness in memory was due to the fact they only had one another—or, more honestly, Scorpius only had Albus—turning their friendship into a kind of necessity which easily covered up the underlying romantic feelings Scorpius developed. But when it hit him, it felt more intense than falling off of a broomstick from thousands of meters in the air, headfirst. He was thinking of Albus in class and while he was talking to someone else and before falling into sleep and while sleeping. Albus consumed Scorpius’ mind during times when Scorpius didn’t even notice he was thinking; during walks from the bathroom back to class, packing up his parchment and quill, making his bed. Yet, even with the shape of his face and sound of his laughter ever-present in his mind, Scorpius found himself yearning for Albus’ presence. Scorpius wanted Albus around longer, body closer to his. Close enough to “accidentally” brush hand against hand or shoulder against shoulder. Just enough to make Scorpius realize how truly alive his best friend was.

He wasn’t sure when it began exactly, but Scorpius assumed he’d either die in the attempt at love, or due to the pain of it. When he imagined his future, Albus was never an option as much as a pipe dream. If he had other friends, Scorpius would have been embarrassed to tell them his feelings, not because they were directed at Albus but because they felt that impossible to be realized.

So he wasn’t quite sure to do with himself with a hand resting on Albus’ chest and the entire English language at his disposal, broad yet lacking in words to describe how he felt.

Scorpius settled with reusing the same expression. “No,” he repeated, letting his head dip down in unnecessary shyness, “I… I don’t want to be your friend. I want to be your boyfriend.” He felt his fingers start slipping down slightly, and his voice was shakier as he said, “It’s all I’ve wanted for so long, Albus. I can’t even remember when it started.”

“You’re trembling,” Albus muttered, voice overlapping the fading of Scorpius’. Yet it was delivered almost just as softly, quietly, like he hadn’t meant to say it. But the way Albus reached his fingers up to catch Scorpius’ falling ones convinced Scorpius otherwise.

It was only in watching that action take place that Scorpius saw his fingers shake.

“Sorry.” Scorpius’ blush was so strong, he felt the warmth of his cheeks regardless of the winter chill. “It’s just… I don’t even know how long I’ve been bottling this all in. It’s a lot to finally say it out loud. To even be able to.”

Albus took hold of Scorpius’ wrist, looping his fingers around it loosely. “Come here,” he whispered, and Scorpius let his body do what it had been desiring for years: fall into Albus’. His forehead dipped down into Albus’ chest and both of his hands cradled Albus’ back, forcing Albus to let go of the very wrist that had led them into this position. 

But, if Ablus’ words were any indication, he didn’t mind the release at all. Instead, with his own palms across Scorpius’ back, lips brushing against his ear, Albus’ murmured one more apology into his ear. Even though it was the most simple one, most quiet one, most indirect one, it still washed over Scorpius’ body with a power unlike the, “I’m sorry,” screamed at him earlier. Scorpius felt absolutely defenseless against the tenderness, the vulnerability. He allowed his head to roll to the side and rest against Albus.

For a moment, all Scorpius could hear were the deep beats of Albus’ heart in his chest; sometimes, a gust of wind would whistle intensely enough to be noticeable, but that was the only other sound recognizable. And it was more than enough.

Albus was the first to move. He took the smallest of steps back—just to get my attention, Scorpius assumed, not to get away from me—prompting Scorpius to look up. Perhaps it shouldn’t have taken him by surprise, but when Scorpius’ eyes met Albus’, his heart fluttered at the fact Albus was already looking down at him; he wasn’t used to being the focus of anyone’s attention like this, and wasn’t quite sure how he’d handle the fact that it was those green eyes giving it to him for the first time.

He gave Albus a smile that felt only about half as pathetic as he knew it must have looked. Albus laughed through his nose, through an exhale. It was in the short jolt of his body that Scorpius realized Albus’ hands were still on his back, just trailing up, up, up.

One stopped on the nape of his neck, the other on the back of his head and he knew what this meant from watching Albus with that girl before—not that that mattered anymore; nothing except this did—so his heart started pounding like heavy rainfall and his fingers twitched again and he closed his eyes and lifted his chin.

In the second before the kiss, Albus realized with a sort of ironic nostalgia that it was the last moment of his life he’d live without knowing what it was like to kiss Albus Potter.

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested by an anonymous user and @who-cares-unknown on Tumblr. Find me there under the same name @madforscamander


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